


Specks of gold

by Shotgun_Cake



Series: We move like the sea [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: After The Heists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Established Relationship, Fluff, I'm in love with their love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Some Humor, Strong Language, literally right after, no angst unless you squint and use a magnifying glass, not gonna lie it's mostly fluff, nothing explicit this time, on the boat escaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_Cake/pseuds/Shotgun_Cake
Summary: “There you are, Berlín!”, shouts a euphoric Stockholm, running towards him. “The Professor just announced it, we’ve reached international waters!”She grabs a hold of his shoulders and briefly hugs him, and Andrés can hear the sound of his own laughter mirroring hers. He doesn’t find it in himself to be annoyed.“We did it!”, Helsinki yells from somewhere in the crowd. “We’re out! We’re free!”“And don’t forget filthy rich!”, pipes up a cheerful voice from the other side of the deck.There he is.~~~OR: Berlermo Established Relationship Fluff. On a boat. Because why not?
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: We move like the sea [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807702
Comments: 30
Kudos: 160
Collections: Berlermo Bingo





	Specks of gold

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back onboard the Fluff Boat! On today's programme, some post-heist established relationship Berlermo. I'm soft.
> 
> UPDATE: there are now translations of this fic  
> \- into [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9649207), thanks to [NeuerSchatten](https://ficbook.net/authors/1992889).  
> \- into [Spanish](https://www.wattpad.com/946354688-manchas-de-oro-berl%C3%ADn-x-palermo-traducci%C3%B3n-manchas), thanks to [Ro](https://twitter.com/loliflopygomez).

Andrés is still below deck when he starts hearing the cheers. 

He’s been sitting silently for quite a while, eyes wide open, taking in his surroundings. There is nowhere else to be at the moment. 

The others aggravated him anyway. They were being too loud and intense, behaving like simple-minded children. Soulless, almost, so focused that they were on the next step, the escape, the aftermath.

Unwilling to slow down and appreciate the simple elegance of the moment they’re in. The poetry to be made about those ninety tons of gold, sailing away at such high speeds on a vast and unforgiving body of water. 

They do cherish the gold. They celebrate it for its value, for the opportunities it will bring them. But they are entirely incapable of seeing beyond that. They do not see the beauty. They do not see the _art_. 

_Their obra maestra._

Except for Martín, of course. He does see it. There was that sparkle in his eye earlier, when they were taking it all in, just the two of them. This ridiculous amount of gold. A gargantuan creature, coming alive before their eyes. A creation of their own minds. Martín can perceive the art. He can hear the poetry. The beautiful madness of it. He may be the only one who truly understands. He’s always understood Andrés. As a colleague and as a friend. A lover and a soulmate. A partner in all things. 

The five years Andrés got to spend with him haven’t been enough. The many years to come, barely. But he will make them count. The plans he has for this man...

It’s the thought of Martín that eventually drags Andrés from his peaceful contemplation. Not boredom. Not the cheers he hears outside. There is no celebration to be had alone, not anymore. He craves something else now. 

The light and the noise almost overwhelm him as he steps out onto the deck. The boat is huge, but this hubbub of voices makes it seem cramped and crowded. The sun has started to set, and the waves are too bright on the horizon.

“I’m assuming the gold is still there”, Marsella jokes while Andrés’s eyes are still adjusting to his new surroundings.

“There you are, Berlín!”, shouts a euphoric Stockholm, running towards him. “The Professor just announced it, we’ve reached international waters!”

She grabs a hold of his shoulders and briefly hugs him, and Andrés can hear the sound of his own laughter mirroring hers. He doesn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. 

“We did it!”, Helsinki yells from somewhere in the crowd. “We’re out! We’re free!”

“And don’t forget filthy rich!”, pipes up a cheerful voice from the other side of the deck.

There he is.

A predatory smile twists his lips as he spots Martín near the railing, dancing and celebrating with the others. He’s always loved the open sea, no wonder he chose that spot.

Sounds of happiness are still erupting all around, and Andrés barely notices.

Rushing through their small crowd, he feels pure heat coursing through his veins as he reaches Martín, grabs his waist, and shoves him against the railing. Just a bit too harshly. 

Martín doesn’t even flinch, and Andrés treasures the trust he puts in him. A slight push and Martín would be falling backward into the deep waters. And drowning is a slow and painful death. In this instant, Andrés quite literally holds his life between his hands. He smiles at the notion, basks in the power he holds. The power that was willingly given to him. Martín is looking up, smiling back at him. Like he knows the dangerous thoughts coursing through his mind. Like it turns him on just as much. 

They don't speak, and Martín shivers with anticipation. Andrés simply feasts on the vision before him. He takes his time, knowingly makes him wait as he takes it all in. The way Martín’s hands are holding onto the railing behind him in a painfully tight grip. White knuckles, as he’s dying to let go and touch Andrés instead. And still, there’s a look of delight on his face. Andrés peers at the delicious curve of his throat and the inviting arch of his lips. 

Then he crashes into him, greed spreading through him as Martín meets him halfway, kisses him with just as much eagerness. Andrés shouldn’t have expected him to be patient. 

Martín’s hands immediately find Andrés’s neck to hold him in place as well, and if it were anyone else the gesture would aggravate him. But he always liked it when Martín did that. Ever so keen, hungry for more. Martín never seems to get enough of him. Andrés hopes he never does.

They did not immediately hear their friends and colleagues' protests at their sudden embrace. Until Andrés does notice, and he finds it amusing. He’s shown more than enough restraint in the bank already. Enough restraint for several lifetimes, actually. The gang’s outrage is little more than white noise to his ears. Fuel to his passion. He's only tuned in to the soft sounds escaping Martín’s lips against his. 

When they eventually part, flushed and breathless, Martín just holds him close and rests his head on his shoulder. 

“Well, congratulations to you too”, Martín laughs into his neck. “Please, try and get it all out of your system before we reach land. I’m not sure Indonesia will accommodate this much PDA. Not that I’m complaining.”

Andrés pulls away and kisses him on the cheek, quite chaste in comparison to what came before. 

“I _know_ you’re not complaining.” 

Looking at Martín is always a treat. So open. So full of love. He was never really good at hiding how he felt. Not that Andrés would ever want him to.

Letting go of each other for a minute, they both hazard a look around. Andrés could not be bothered to try and suppress the genuine smile he can feel splitting his face in half. 

The rest of the gang has stopped paying attention to them, taken as they were in their own celebrations. Bogotá is twirling a laughing Nairobi dangerously close to the railing of the deck. Helsinki will wrap anyone in his wake in a bear hug - Marsella at the moment - all with Manila sitting on his shoulders. Andrés briefly wonders if she even weighs anything to Helsinki, because he seems to have forgotten she was still there. Meanwhile, Denver, Stockholm, Río and Tokyo are hugging in a tight circle, turning around and cheering loudly like sports supporters. 

Andrés spots Sergio, standing on the side with Raquel in his arms. The both of them seem to be talking quietly, as they take in the spectacle of the gang’s childish joy. Andrés meets his eyes from across the deck and, just like that, sees glimpses of warm childhood memories he thought long forgotten. 

His brother might be seeing them too, sharing this moment with Andrés for a few seconds, like a secret between them.

Then Raquel grabs Sergio’s arm, pulling frantically, and whatever she says to him changes his demeanor in an instant. His eyes drift to the side and widen almost comically. If they hadn't been basking in the soft glow of the evening sunlight, Andrés would even be convinced that Sergio just _paled_.

His brother has spotted something.

Andrés gives the crowd a quick once-over, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looks for the threat. The reason for Sergio's sudden panic. Instead he finds a sea of wide eyes, staring back at him in shock. They’ve stopped celebrating too, eyeing Andrés like he’s holding a bomb. Except no, they're not looking straight at him. Behind him.

He turns around in a rush to make sure Martín is okay. Maybe he’s seen something.

“Did someth-”

Andrés chokes on the words.

Because behind him is Martín, kneeling on the deck of the boat, holding a small, red object. It's a jewelry box.

Martín is down on one knee. 

He looks so beautiful and everything is so quiet. 

Time stops. Andrés feels his entire body shut down. He cannot move, he's just standing there, staring wide eyed at the man he loves. Failing to process this vital piece of information. 

Andrés has a lot of experience with proposals. Asking for someone's hand in marriage is a fine, delicate art, and he has mastered it. Wining and dining. Soft music. Creating a romantic atmosphere. At last, popping the question. Tolerating the screeches and the tears. A whole performance. 

He's done it five times now, and has been met with nothing but success. Not in his marriages, definitely not. But success in getting the lucky lady to say yes to him. 

The point is, just as with most things he sets his heart to, Andrés is fucking great at proposing. Which is why it comes as such a shock to find out just how terrible he is at being proposed to. 

The actual proposal hasn't even started yet, and here he is already, infuriatingly out of control. His entire body is frozen in place, unresponsive to any of his commands. He doesn't even know what he's trying to accomplish. Running. Singing. Kicking. Screaming. Anything, really. A human reaction. People tend to react, when the love of their life happens to be down on one knee right in front of them. That’s just common courtesy.

Though Andrés finds, to his dismay, that his face has chosen to provide said reaction without consulting him. His bottom lip is trembling, transparent with emotion. His eyes are starting to tingle, his vision already blurred by unshed tears. He didn’t plan for that.

Eventually, Andrés successfully moves his arm, brings a hand over his mouth. The hand is shaking too. What an interesting discovery. 

This cannot be happening right now. 

Before Andrés can do anything about it, Martín takes a deep, long breath, and starts on his tirade. 

“Andrés, you've gotten down on one knee way too many times already, and your decisions on matters of the heart have proven to be nothing short of disastrous. So I have chosen to spare you the embarrassment of, once again, asking for the hand of someone who doesn't deserve you. And to just do it myself.”

Martín chuckles, shakes his head a bit. His eyes are bigger and bluer than Andrés has ever seen them. They do not leave him.

“Andrés de Fonollosa, you are the most charming, the most intelligent and sophisticated man I know. Fucking hot, too! You are also the most stubborn, selfish, pretentious asshole I have had the pleasure to meet. You have many, many flaws, and I do not have the time or energy to list them all. And yet here I am, knowing full well who and what you are. I’m not going anywhere. You have already given me so much Andrés. And I’m not even talking about the goldmine we’re sitting on. It’s you I want. Everything about you. I want you to let me be a part of your life, in all of its glory, and in the ugly parts too. I want to be there to temper your worst impulses, if you’ll let me. Because I understand. Because I will never love anyone like I love you.”

His voice is getting shaky, nearly hoarse, as he says the words. Andrés barely feels the tears, now freely streaming down his face. He refuses to acknowledge them by wiping them away. So he just looks at Martín, at his smile. The sparkle in his eye.

“I've been dying to do this every single day for the last five years, Andrés. But I waited. I couldn’t propose to you with anything less than what you deserve. Because I made a promise to you. That we would melt gold together. And we did.”

He opens the box. A single golden ring sits inside of it, simple and elegant. Andrés instantly knows what it's made of. Dazzling as it is, it doesn't compare to Martín's eyes looking up at him.

“I may own more gold than I can ever spend, but it's up to you to decide, right now, if I get to be the happiest man on this Earth. And it seems I’m done stalling, so now I’ve got to do the asking. Andrés de Fonollosa, will you marry me?”

He stops. Already. Finally.

“Are you done?”, Andrés snaps immediately. 

But his vision is blurred and he has to wipe his eyes unceremoniously if he wants to keep looking at Martín. That's all he wants to do. The silence starts stretching out between them and Andrés doesn’t do anything about it. He just drags a frustrated hand across his face and tries to collect his thoughts.

Martín eventually stands up and just smiles at him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it. The simple gesture is both soothing and upsetting. 

“You can say no, of course”, Martín says with an upbeat voice, yet Andrés feels the twitch of his fingers against his palm. “But if you do, I just might keep your share of the gold, then.”

He's smiling as he jokes, playful as always, his tongue poking out through the chip on his tooth. Andrés would find it charming, but the curve of his lips is wrong. He's nervous, still.

“You couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”, Andrés finally sighs. And since he's found his voice again, he will not stop until he's done. “You _had_ to do this now?”

Martín lets go of his hand and Andrés continues on his rant.

“If you’d only waited for _three days_ , Martín! No more than seventy two hours. I had planned everything to the smallest detail. The finest dining and the rarest wine. One of the most stunning palaces in the entire world. I even had a bespoke suit, waiting for you. And a ridiculously hard to find vinyl of that stupid song you like so much. Art and music and fucking fireworks. I have spent months crafting the absolute best night of your life, Martín. And in the spur of the moment, you just go and blurt that out on this disgusting excuse of a boat, and wreck every wonderful thing I had in store for us. All because you cannot keep your fucking mouth shut. For three days.”

Martín's shoulders start shaking. Sobs course through his body, destroying every ounce of composure that was left in him. 

There is so much love on his face. In his eyes. Andrés just yelled all of his frustration in his face, and this impossible man is smiling at him, laughing even. His whole body is shaking, both from the laughter and from the sobs. The sight is unsettling. 

Andrés wants to laugh with him and scream his joy toward the sea. He wants to cradle Martín in his arms and protect him from all sorrow. 

He stops himself. He doesn't feel bad about his outburst.

Calmly, he takes the ring box from Martín's trembling fingers, his other hand coming up to rest on the other man's cheek. 

“Berlín, I swear to god, if you don’t say yes to him right this instant, I will throw you overboard myself!”

The nerve of some people. This is an emotional and private moment.

Not once taking his eyes away from Martín, Andrés raises a finger toward their audience and quickly snaps back. 

“No one asked for your input, Nairobi. This is between me and my fiancé-”

When Martín completely slams his body against his, Andrés stumbles backwards and nearly falls to the floor. Well, to the deck. Still, he gently wraps his arms around him and nuzzles his hair, letting his eyes close as he takes in the familiar scent. 

“Of course that's a yes, you idiot”, he whispers in his ear. “That was never in question. At any point.”

He chuckles as he feels the quick press of a kiss against his neck. He ignores the gasps and the cheers behind him, focuses on the warmth of Martín in his arms, grounding him to the moment. 

“I love you so much”, Martín mumbles into his skin. “I can’t wait for you to become Señor Andrés Berrote.”

“Don't make me change my mind.”

But he's already finding his lips in a short, tender kiss. Neither of them can contain their smiles and they end up pulling away, in no state to kiss properly. They just look at each other for a moment. Andrés thinks about his escape from the MINT, newly millionnaire. He thinks about how they sneaked out of the Royal Bank, just hours ago. He thought that was the most intense joy he could ever feel, then. The very best this life had to offer. But right now, he’s no longer sure any of that even compares.

Suddenly it’s Martín’s turn to push him against the railing, and Andrés can’t say he hates it. Not when Martín looks at him like that. Emboldened. Free. 

Martín kisses him this time, and there’s just a hint of tongue. Not enough, not even close. Teasing, in that way he knows drives Andrés mad with desire. 

There's something dark and insidious to Martín's kiss. His lips, wild and insistent, tell Andrés how relieved he is. How unsure he’s been. A ridiculous notion. Andrés has shown his hand a long time ago. There was absolutely no way he could have said no to him, and Martín should have known that already. Andrés needs to prove to him, again and again, just how much he loves him, wants him, cherishes him. An endless task, never truly finished. And he will repeat it, every single day, for the rest of his life if he has to. 

When he pulls away to meet Martín's heated gaze, there is no longer a hint of hesitation. They all but sprint away from the railing, rushing toward the trapdoor that will take them below deck. Someone - Bogotá - is walking toward them, probably planning to offer some sort of congratulations. Andrés swerves from his course to avoid him and doesn’t make eye contact. If he lets his friend hug him, they will soon be surrounded. His newly appointed fiancé is laughing by his side as Andrés leads the way. One of his hands easily finds Martín's, the other one still clutching the small jewelry box. 

They barely make it to their cabin. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The waves keep crashing against the side of the boat, rocking them gently as Andrés’s pulse is slowing down. His breathing is still a bit shaky, he hears himself panting into Martín’s neck. The body he’s holding is uncomfortably hot against his bare skin, and Andrés doesn’t care, not for a second. He would still be holding Martín if it burned his fingers to touch him. 

Martín is holding Andrés’s hand at eye-level to inspect it again. The ring almost shines, a faint glow in the dim lighting of their cabin. Martín has that frown on his face that he always gets when the numbers don’t add up. When he’s slouched against a desk in a dark room, sighing and confused. Andrés pictures him with a pencil behind his ear, completing the picture. He smiles.

That’s his fucking fiancé.

He snatches his hand away from the prying eyes, caressing his lover’s cheek instead.

“It’s not going to disappear the moment you stop looking at it”, Andrés teases. 

“Says the guy who spent all afternoon downstairs staring at his mountains of gold”, Martín jokes.

The only way this moment could be any more perfect would be for them to be in that room right now, surrounded by the fruits of their life’s work, as they bask in the afterglow. As they bask in each other. 

This is a long boat trip. There will be other opportunities to get creative among the specks of gold.

And if Andrés thinks the real treasure is already in his arms anyway, he doesn’t say.

“You’re welcome to join me next time, Martín. It’s yours too”, he says instead. “Just like you’re welcome to join me for dinner when we reach our destination. You know, as one should offer when they intend to propose.”

Martín laughs again, pressing his lips against the palm of his hand.

“You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

He’s not even repentant.

“I had a plan. With a little more flair and sophistication”, Andrés laments. “If you could’ve just controlled yourself for a few days.”

“I never thought you would ask me first!”, Martín protests. 

_I never thought you would ask me at all_ , he doesn’t say, and Andrés cannot wait to marry this man. To prove him wrong, once and for all.

“Well I didn’t get to, did I?”, Andrés complains, only mildly annoyed. “You beat me to it. Quite rudely, I might add.”

“And you were gonna do all this? All the things you said?”

There’s that sparkle in his eye again. Andrés will never get tired of Martín looking at him like that.

“Oh, but you can trust that it’s still happening”, he replies. “View it as my engagement gift to you, instead. I will not let your poor timing get in the way of my grand romantic gesture. That's not how one should enter marriage...”

“You're such a sap.”

“And you have no impulse control, Martín.”

Andrés leans in to kiss him again before he can get another word in. Always a sure-fire way to have the last word. When he pulls away, Martín exhales slowly before speaking again.

“Just so you know, this wasn’t actually a spur of the moment kind of thing. I've been thinking about it for months. I wanted to do it today, on this boat.”

“Why?”, he asks, appalled.

“So we’d be standing above the gold”, Martín says, as though it’s quite obvious. “The day our dream finally came to fruition.”

Andrés smiles. He decides Martín is forgiven. He certainly does not tell him that. 

Instead, he raises another grievance.

“You could have worked on the speech, couldn’t you?”

“Hey! Don’t think I didn’t”, Martín corrects. “I know it by heart. Each sentence is crafted with care.”

“You're hilarious.”

When Martín doesn’t laugh, Andrés stares at him. 

“You're serious, aren’t you?”

Martín slowly nods, visibly amused. He is no longer forgiven. 

“Calling me an asshole in the middle of your proposal was _planned_?”

“That’s the first thing I wrote. I don't want you to get any more big headed and think you have me wrapped around your finger, just cause I want to marry you.”

Andrés is taken aback.

“I don't think of you that way, Martín.”

“Well now I know you’re lying. _And that's not how one should enter marriage_ ”, he mimics, sarcastically.

Martín grabs his hand to fiddle with the ring again, and this time Andrés lets him.

“Sorry you didn't like my proposal”, he finally says, and there is a hint of sadness in his eyes when he looks at him. He’s forgiven again. 

“You’re being difficult now. It was perfect.”

“I said the wrong things, at the wrong time, in the wrong place.”

“And you will write it all down before you can forget any of the words”, Andrés insists. “Because I know a very good calligrapher who just so happens to be travelling around Asia at the moment, and I need that entire speech inked and framed in our future home.”

“See? I told you. You're an asshole”, Martín grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

“You think I’m joking, don’t you?”

“I know you’re _not_ joking. That's why you're an asshole.”

Andrés is grinning. He loves seeing Martín this worked up. Red and flustered, wild eyed. Anger making his muscles tense under Andrés’s roaming hands. Impassioned. That’s when he comes alive. The fact that Andrés already has him naked and in bed is just icing on the cake, really.

“You know I love you, Martín.”

It almost sounds like a question. Martín doesn’t answer, doesn’t say it back. Instead he channels all that frenzied energy into pushing Andrés away from him, shifting his body on the bed until he has him on his back. 

“How would my _fiancé_ like to rock that boat again?”, Martín suggests as he straddles him.

“Your fiancé might be amenable.”

Martín leans down to kiss him, and Andrés realizes he was wrong earlier. They never needed to be lying among the gold for this to be a perfect moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I now owe my life to boom slap for this [life-altering piece of art](https://twitter.com/boom_slap/status/1309093076745494528?s=19) that she drew for this story.  
> T W I C E  
> Rude.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> My first try at an Andrés point of view! Who is he? Who am I?  
> As always, you are warmly encouraged to leave a comment and/or [yell into the void](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com/ask) in my Tumblr asks.
> 
> I am submitting this work to the [Berlermo Bingo (Summer 2020)](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Summer2020) Collection, in the _Proposal_ category. Although I guess it also fits the _Out Of Spain_ prompt, so check whichever box you prefer.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> NOW WITH A SEQUEL: I also wrote the [wedding fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024333/chapters/60600337), equally fluffy, multichapter.


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